


The Tragic Type

by Tyranno



Category: Bleach, Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 00:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ouran Highschool Host Club Welcomes It's Newest Host... Kurosaki Ichigo!</p><p>(and in hind-sight, that's the last time Ichigo takes Tatsuki's advice...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting Today, You Are A Host!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/n: I do like this fic, but it **is** quite old, so the structure of it is not great. just, you know, be warned _
> 
>  
> 
> **A/n 2:[This fic was kind of re-written here, but with a different plot.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13092291/chapters/29952261)**

Ichigo stands at the doors of what looked like some kind of palace. He’d been told it was a school, but the grounds were huge, the long, sloping lawns impossibly green, ringed by complex arches of pale stone. It looked much more like an expensive manor than anything resembling what Karakura High ever did.

He ducked his head around the door. The rich carpet stretched down ornate corridors, branching off towards a huge, wide staircase. All this wealth achieved was making Ichigo unsettled, and he checked and rechecked the bottom of his shoes for gum as he slipped them off.

It had all seemed so far away and so dreamlike, talking about it on Tatsuki’s messy bedroom floor. Joining another university seemed like an incredible idea. He had loved—still loved—Karakura Town, and always would do. But it was too thick with memories, too daunting. Its classes were too full of people who knew him and didn’t like him, too many question’s like “Where’s Orihime?” and “Why did Ishida change schools?”

Ichigo stopped suddenly, glancing around a hallway he didn’t recognise. He was lost.

Ichigo glanced up at a chandelier as he passed, and then back down to his map. He really had no idea where he was anymore.

There was a commotion inside one of the spare music rooms, a little like loud, enthusiastic nature program, and he ducked his head inside.

Oh.

He seemed to have taken a wrong turning somewhere.

It was like stepping into a jungle. The air was hot, and smelled strongly of earth, and huge, real trees bordered the pathways. A parrot squawked and dived over his head. A real, honest-to-god-parrot.

“I thought this was a music room?” Ichigo muttered to himself, stepping inside. Curiosity got the better of him. He ducked through a bunch of palm trees.

“Welcome~”

Ichigo raised his eyebrows.

Seven teenagers, around his age, were dressed as animal tamers. Six of them stood around a throne where the seventh sat, dressed regally, like a blonde foreign prince in ruby-red sheets, a Fennec fox cradled and asleep under one arm.

The blonde prince blinked at him. “Oh. You’re... the transfer student, I take it?”

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” A teenager with glasses supplied.

The blonde prince stood, resting the fox on his hip as he advanced, smiling in a soft way that really got on Ichigo’s nerves. “I never thought the transfer student would be gay...”

Ichigo glared, setting his shoulders straighter.

“So what’s your type, eh? Wild? Lolita?” He gestured at the rest of the group as he said it, advancing smoothly.

Ichigo took a step back, glaring harder.

“Or, perhaps...” The prince took Ichigo’s chin in his fingers, “Me?”

Ichigo caught the prince’s wrist. “It’s not like that,” He said, firmly. Honestly, what was this guy’s problem?

The prince’s eyes widened and something like excitement danced in them. “Or, perhaps! You’re secretly a girl!”

Ichigo punched him.

 

*

 

Honestly, Ichigo had punched people for less, and much harder. Heck, his dad came at him with more force every morning, (or used to, before he moved out) so he forgot that most people usually didn’t bounce back when you floored them.

The prince stumbled back, blood dripping between the fingers he’d clutched to his face.

“Ah, Jesus I’m sorry,” Ichigo’s anger vanished in an instant. He hung back, unsure of what to do with himself.

The prince slumped back down on his throne while Glasses pressed a napkin to his face and tilted his chin up.

The rest of the strange group seemed kind of unsure of themselves, and the smallest one of them began bawling.

“What happened!?” A muffled voice floated up from the floorboards.

Ichigo approached cautiously, trying to see if there was anything he could do to help. He could feel shame crawling up his spine. “Is there anything I can do to help? I have medical training...” He muttered.

“No,” Glasses said sharply. “It’s only a nosebleed. It doesn’t look like it’s broken. There might be some bruising but...”

“How could you do that?!” The little blonde one clutched at the prince’s chest, sobbing “Tama-chan is all blooo~y!!”

“It’s true, it wasn’t very nice...” A short, dark-haired boy with bright eyes said, looking over the prince’s throne at him.

There was a sharp sound of metal grinding against metal, and the floor in front of the throne opened up, and a short, lively girl in the High school’s uniform peered over the edge to study the prince. “Oh no! You’re injured, Tamaki-san!! How will you ever host now?!”

She swooped around on her heels and glared down at Ichigo. “Brute!”

Ichigo looked sheepish. “I said I was sorry...” He muttered.

“How will he ever host now?!” She demanded again. “All those poor ladies who came to see their prince will go home with their hearts broken, to see him defiled so!” She straightened up her skirts. “There’s nothing for it. You’ll have to host!”

Ichigo stared. “Me?”

“Yes! Now, quickly,” She unfolded her umbrella and leapt gracefully down from her podium. “What type are you?”

Ichigo stared. “Type?”

“Yes!” She stared up at him, gaze sharp and unnerving. “I don’t know!” She cried, after a moment of intense consideration.

“It’s easy,” The prince said, huffily. “Impolite brute!”

The little kid on his lap nodded eagerly, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Look, I’m really, really sorry. I’ve had a hard day today, but I shouldn’t have hit you.” Ichigo huffed.

The two blondes sent him more hateful glares.

“The Tragic one,” The shorter one said, suddenly.

Ichigo blinked.

“’The Tragic One’?” The girl repeated, thoughtfully. “Yes! It’s perfect! The punk whose hard life has lead him do some terrible things he regrets, but despite it all, he has a secret heart of gold! Staring into space and remembering past heartaches! Girls will want to get close to him, to let him reveal his secrets to them!! You’re a genius, Haruhi-kun!”

The shorter one nodded, a little baffled.

Ichigo frowned, “I still don’t get it, what’s a host? And what do clichéd romances have to do with anything?”

The girl shook her head, curls flowing wildly. “There’s no time! There should be some spare clothes in the changing room—quick, quick, quick!!”

Ichigo hurried, still confused, but figured he’d caused enough offense for today.

 

*

 

The room was filling quickly with girls and he had, somehow, acquired a python.

It draped itself around Ichigo’s neck, and both of them watched warily as the prince posed on his throne. Somebody had bandaged his nose—and put his arm in a sling, for some reason.

He threw an arm up, as more girls poured in. They crowded around him, cooing and worrying.

“What happened?! Tamaki-chan!!” One of them asked.

“It’s nothing, my ladies,” He simpered, eyes glittering with—wait, were those real tears? Ichigo thought he was going to throw up. “I was preparing desperately for your arrival, when a ugly,” The prince glanced at Ichigo, “disgusting brute came storming inside and punched me! I restrained him, but unfortunately I am unable to host for you tonight!”

The ladies soaked it up.

“So!” The prince continued, spreading his arms wide, “My good friend—uh...” He stabbed a finger towards Ichigo.

“Ichigo,” Ichigo tried hard not to glare.

“...Ichigo will host you ladies tonight.” The prince bowed, ushering the ladies towards Ichigo’s table.

The ladies all sat, and looked at him expectantly.

Ichigo looked back. The python curved slowly over his front, a warm, heavy rope. “Would you like some tea?” He asked.

The ladies nodded, and he quickly poured some out, only occasionally slopping it all over the saucer.

“Would you all like milk? Where is the milk anyway...?” He glanced around.

After a moment, one of the younger girls said quietly. “It isn’t that kind of tea.”

Ichigo frowned down at it. “Ah.”

After another moment of silence, someone said: “It’s probably an exotic tea, like a white tea. To fit with the theme.”

“Theme...?” Ichigo frowned, looking around the room. There did seem to be a theme. Maybe jungles, or animal tamers? Something exotic... with all the trees and shit... and real pythons and fennec foxes and bunnies and parrots and lemurs too, who had time enough to do this sort of crap... “Is there a theme every week?” He asked.

The girls seemed unimpressed with his lack of knowledge, and lack of grace. But if rich girls were anything at all, it was well-brought up and polite.

So they stayed. Made awkward conversation for what felt like years and years.

Eventually, after forever and forever, several lifetimes spent in the 4 to 6 pm slot, the girls all left, and Ichigo nearly collapsed.

What a horrible way to spend an evening... Ichigo squinted at the half-empty cups of tea on the ornate table-top. He was glad he’d never have to do that again. Honestly, girls had never really been into him to start off with... well... Orihime was, but Orihime was hardly average.

“Well... that was...” Glasses frowns down at him from a distance. Ichigo lifted his head.

“Awful!” The prince, free of bandages now, announced rather happily, “You simply don’t have any talent!”

Ichigo shrugged, frown returning. “Yeah, well...”

The short one smiled at him. “You weren’t too bad... you just need practice.”

Ichigo nodded. “So, I can go now, huh?”

“Yes,” The glasses guy says, “Same time tomorrow.”

Ichigo shot up, glaring at him. “What?! I attended your dumb-ass club, I talked to those girls for hours, and I filled in for the prince, what more do you want?”

“Yes... but you filled in rather poorly. I’m afraid those customers weren’t happy with the way you behaved, and the host club just can’t stand for something like that. There has to be other ways you can pay back for assaulting Tamaki.”

Ichigo glared. “You know what? No. Thanks.” He stormed towards the dressing room.

“Of course, I would have to inform the staff.”

“Go ahead!” Ichigo called, throwing open the door.

“Remembering of course, Tamaki is the son of Yuzuru Suoh, the chairman of Ouran Highschool.”

The penny dropped.

Ichigo slammed the door.

 

*

 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.” Ichigo said the next day.

It’s the tone that Tamaki finds strange. Ichigo isn’t sucking up to him, he just sounds tired. Like he’s sick of being angry. Tamaki doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s okay,” Haruhi says, ushering him to sit with them.

Ichigo sits opposite Haruhi, and tries to get comfortable.

“I’ll introduce everyone. I’m Haruhi Fujioka. I got in through a scholarship, like you.” He gestures at Glasses, “That’s Kyoya Ootori, he’s the ‘cool’ type. He handles the finances.” He flicks his wrist towards the prince, “That’s Tamaki Suoh, he’s the ‘prince charming’ type, as you already know...”

The two red-headed doppelgangers were twins Kaoru and Hikaru Hitachiin, ‘Little devil’ types; the little blonde was Mitsukuni “honey” Haninozuka who was the cute one; and the big one was... Ichigo frowned, Tadashi... no, Takashi... ah, he’d remember eventually.

“So, why did you move?” Haruhi asked, pouring them some tea.

Ichigo had been so relaxed by his presence the question caught him off-guard. It was true; everyone seemed gentler and calmer when he was the focus of attention. “Ah-huh?” He asked.

“Why did you transfer? Karakura Town’s very far away, it’s probably a big change.”

“Ah.”

Ichigo watched steam drift from his tea, damp coils of pale ribbons ghosting over his face. There was the question, the million-dollar question. Sink or swim. Yes or no. Truth or lie.

It would be easy to lie. Half-truths, even, would be easier. He’d fallen out with his friends, he’d dropped far in his grades, he hated the way the floor squeaked and the empty spaces behind desks. The truth was nothing he had ever given, not completely, not to anyone. It made his head ache, remembering what he could and couldn’t reveal. Keeping the cards close to his chest.

He wanted to, desperately wanted to, be truthful.

So he was.

“I..” He cradled the tea close to his chest, feeling the weight of the necklace against his chest. The cheap flower hair-clips tied around a thin silver chain. “...a great friend of mine passed away, suddenly, around half a year ago. It was my fault... I couldn’t bring her help fast enough. At school, I always saw her empty place and I couldn’t concentrate. So I changed schools.” He smiled into his tea, “I miss her but—”

“Ichiiggooo~~!” Honey leapt into his lap and curled around his chest, sopping. “Don’t worry, Ichigo!!”

“Um,” Ichigo put down his tea.

Tamaki clasped his outstretched hand, and pressed it to his chest, eyes shining. “Don’t worry, Ichigo.” He said; voice smooth and poetic.

“I wasn’t worried,” Ichigo said, to no-one in particular.

“Ichigo, you have a home here, in the host club! Starting today, you are an official member, and my son! I will teach you all I know about hosting, and eventually, after lots and lots of hard-work you will become a magnificent host!”

Ichigo smiled a little grimly, but a smile nonetheless.

 

*

 

Ichigo heard a noise behind him and he swung around, chest bare and necklace bouncing off his collar bone.

Tamaki grinned sheepishly, and shrunk out of the changing rooms, flushed, with a muttered _sorryjustcheckingsorrypleasedon’tkillme_.


	2. Going To The Movies

“So why did you transfer Ichigo-chan?” The question was accompanied by a chink of teacups. 

“I felt like a change.” He smiled. “And seeing you guys makes me glad I did.” 

There was no theme today, and it has put them all at ease. Ichigo’s less-than-stellar performance has whittled his requests down to two, while the rest of the hosts had as many as eight or ten. He much preferred it, though; it was heaven for his nerves. He had gotten to know Hiromu and Isuna quite well, but he still felt their real selves were hidden by layers and layers of politeness and courtesy and keeping up a good image. It was vaguely frustrating, but that was probably because he was thinking of Byakuya and how close he’d come to... He forced himself into the present. 

He poured tea, as delicately and properly as he could. It was not about speed, he has learnt, and it was all about the act. The performance. Ichigo had never really had to pretend much, so his acting skills have always left a lot to be desired. He figured some practice couldn’t hurt. 

Hiromu took her tea gracefully, took the tiniest sips and giggled quietly. “What is Karakura High like?” She asked. 

Ichigo took a sip of his own tea. “It’s smaller, I guess. It’s old, and the toilets rarely flush, the vending machines only work half the time, the science wing smells like they used fish guts instead of cement to build with... it’s nothing like Ouran. But...” 

He swirls the tea around his horrendously expensive mug. 

“There were always people around. Somebody was in your way, people were kissing behind the lockers, somebody was shouting too-loud and some people just wouldn’t move out of fu—” Ichigo choked, backtracking wildly. That was definitely not polite. “I mean... people wouldn’t move out of my... darn way. Wherever you turned there was always somebody already there. It was kinda annoying but it was also kind-of nice.” 

Ichigo glanced at Isuna, who smiled back at him warmly. She was young-looking, and seemed too innocent to have reached the age of sixteen. He guessed rich kids grew up more sheltered. 

“It sounds nice,” Hiromu smiled brightly. 

Ichigo nodded. It did. 

 

*

 

“The real question that remains is; what will we do to celebrate gaining another host?” Tamaki spread over the chair. They were early, and the strawberry in question wasn’t there yet. 

“Maybe we should see a movie?” Haruhi suggested. 

“That’s a good idea.” Kyoya flips open his phone. “I’ll check new releases.” 

“What kind of movies would Ichigo like?” Hikaru asked. “Action movies? Adventure movies?” 

“...Romance movies?” Kaoru smirked. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Ichigo dropped his bag a table, taking a seat. He pulled out his homework, flicking through the pages. Maths always reminded him of Ishida, and every time he even glanced at a sum he saw a flash of spectacles and dark hair, possibly reeling off some text-book definition too fast for Ichigo to completely catch. 

“Ichigo!” Tamaki scooted closer. “Do you like movies?” 

Ichigo shrugged. “I don’t mind.” 

“Then it’s decided!” Tamaki threw up his arms. “We will visit the theatre on Saturday!” 

“Can’t.” Ichigo squinted at the sum he was working on, and scrubbed out the last few figures. “I work on the weekends.” 

Tamaki blinked. “You... work? You mean homework and studying, right?”

“Nope. I’ve got a job.” Ichigo pencilled in an answer, frown deepening as he scrubbed it out again. God, where was that bespectacled cousin of his when anyone needed him? He glanced up, and blinked. “Sorry. You can go without me, I don’t mind.” 

Tamaki nodded, glumly. 

 

*

 

“You’ve got a big order today,” Ikumi eyed the small package on her desk. She picked it up and shook it experimentally. She heard barely anything, and it was incredibly light. She tossed it from hand to hand. “Or, a small job that’ll take all day, apparently.” 

Her young, late (and only) employee ducked his flaming head through the door, glancing over at her. He had planned to get a different job, somewhere that was closer to his new school, but he figured nobody would be quite as accepting of his tardiness, rudeness, and general behaviour. Anyway, he liked Ikumi. 

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, picking up the small brown box and shaking it too. “What is it?” 

“A mystery.” Ikumi sighed. “Just take it to the cinema and drop it off.” 

It’s a little too obvious to Ichigo, but he cannot hide his grin. 

 

*

 

The group wander around the cinema foyer, pawing over leaflets like they were foreign treasures and eating popcorn by the ton. The twins and Tamaki argue over movies, throwing advertisements and squabbling like children. 

Kyoya had memorised every movie showing and general feedback, trivia, and information about them, ready to rattle off it in chunks if anyone asked. Although, it looked like nobody was going to. 

Haruhi sat near the entrance, semi-nervous. She didn’t really know Ichigo, so she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d react. She knew he is a nice guy, deep down, but he was hot-headed. She hoped he wouldn’t get angry. 

When Ichigo walked through the door with a barely-suppressed grin on his face she knew she shouldn’t have worried. 

“Somebody ordered...” Ichigo announced, and then shook the box next to his ear. “A handkerchief and a tow crumpled pieces of paper.” 

Tamaki grinned. “Ichigo! What sort of movie do you like?” 

Ichigo shrugged. 

Chaos resumed. 

After about ten minutes of wondering around, reading the leaflets and an incredibly generic cinematic magazine, Ichigo lost his patience. “Why don’t we all just see different movies?” 

Even though they all argued, they seemed reluctant to part ways. 

Eventually, the twins went for a comedy, Tamaki and Honey (and by extension Mori) went for a cheesy romance, and Haruhi, Ichigo and strangely Kyoya queued up for a movie about aliens. 

 

*

 

They sat near the back, shuffling through the dark seats, balancing the piles of concessions. 

Haruhi squished between piles of bags of popcorn Tamaki had pressed into her hands, grinning over the heads of the rows. She really enjoyed movies; her father had always taken her when he had time, letting her choose the film and arranging everything. He’d recently gotten preoccupied with work, and hadn’t really had time. Haruhi never asked him, since he’d probably go with her even if he fell asleep half way through. 

Ichigo leant his head against the furry wall. Keigo had liked the game the movie had been based around, but despite his best efforts, he’d never gotten any of the plot into Ichigo’s head for good. 

“I hope they keep the subplots in,” A dark shape moved in front of them, silhouetted against a bright cream advert, “It just won’t hold together as a mov—Hey! Ichigo!” 

Ichigo’s head shot up. He strained his eyes against the darkness. “Keigo?” 

“You remember!” Keigo leant straight over the back of the seat. He glanced at Haruhi. “Huh! Got yourself a girl-friend at your new posh school, eh? Eh?” 

Haruhi flushed, and was glad nobody could see it in the dark movie theatre. “Actually—”

“Haruhi’s a guy.” Ichigo said, flatly. 

Oh. Haruhi glanced down at her top. Well, it was nice to know he didn’t stereotype. 

Kyoya smirked and continued to tap on his phone. 

Keigo raised an eyebrow, glancing down at Haruhi’s pink, floral-printed top and shin-length white skirt. “Wow, Ichigo, Haruhi’s kinda ga—”

Ichigo’s fist caught him between the eyes. 

Haruhi yelped, but Ichigo just sat back down, picking up his magazine again. 

“It looks like you haven’t changed, Ichigo.” 

Ichigo glanced up, and grinned. “Mizuiro? Keigo must’ve dragged you all the way here.” 

“Yeah,” Mizuiro sighed. “Honestly Keigo is just such a drag. He didn’t want to see the director’s cut in Karakura so he forced me all the way over here.” 

Keigo whimpered from where he’d sprawled across the seats. “Ow... Mizuiro... My poor heart...”

“Quick, Keigo, the movie’s starting!” Mizuiro called. 

Keigo was up like a shot, glancing around wildly. He frowned. “That wasn’t fair, Mizuiro.” 

Mizuiro laughed. He turned back to Ichigo. “What’s Ouran like?” 

Ichigo hummed. “It’s...” A lot of words came to him. It was difficult to describe. “It’s... big. There is so much room, everything is always better-than-the-best, the lessons are always interesting and everyone has a master’s degree. I keep worry I’m going to break something incredibly expensive and spend the rest of my life enslaved in order to pay for it.” 

Haruhi grinned. 

Mizuiro smiled. “It sounds nice.” 

Ichigo nodded. It did. 

 

*

 

The special effects were pretty good in Haruhi’s opinion, even if one of Ichigo’s friends loudly exclaimed that he’d made better aliens in his toilet (It was kind of annoying, but Ichigo smacked him sharply on the back of the head every time so he eventually got the idea.) 

Haruhi didn’t really ask for much; good explosions and kisses at the end was really all a movie needed in her opinion. 

They left the theatre in a bigger group than they came in with, and gathered together in the foyer in a bustle. There were loud introductions, more dramatic that the movies they’d just watched in some cases. Keigo didn’t fit in well but he made up for it by making the most noise he could. 

Mizuiro hung back, tapping on his phone with earphones already hanging around his neck. He glanced up. “Oh, Ichigo?” 

Ichigo glanced at him. 

“Rukia wanted to talk to you. She needs your help with something.” 

Haruhi didn’t miss the spread of dread that overtook Ichigo’s features. 

 

*

 

There was a stranger in Haruhi’s kitchen. 

Haruhi froze; pan in hand, eyes wide.

Morning had come to Haruhi’s house in a blaze of golden sunlight, lighting blindingly across her hastily stacked piles of textbooks and reading books, spreading in a warm haze across her already empty bed. 

The stranger didn’t look like a burglar. He was old, wrinkles thick and defined; a long life of smiles and frowns. He looked kindly, smiling gently and absently at her. He clutched a newspaper, squinting at her. Haruhi would have thought he was lost, and possibly senile, if it wasn’t for the fact his form disappeared into a soft white smoke at the waist down. 

The old man moved around the kitchen, almost wistfully, completely ignoring her. 

“Haruhi?” Haruhi’s dad poked a head around the door. His eyes widened at her expression. “Haruhi, what’s wrong?” 

Haruhi watched in horror as the old man drifted absently towards her father. “Wait, dad—!”

The old man passed straight through him. 

Haruhi gaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Everything gets ready to hit the fan


	3. The Plot Thickens!!

“Do you think he’s sick?” Honey hugs his knees and looks up, eyes big and watery. “Maybe he didn’t want to give us his sickness."

 

Mori nods quietly.

 

Haruhi’s eyes trail the tiny decorative stone carvings that lined the tops of the walls. Ichigo had been acting weird all day, scowling and avoiding all conversations, keeping to himself and sitting elsewhere at lunch. He only spoke when a teacher asked him a question, and he studied all lunch in the corner of the dining room. Whatever his friend had wanted to speak with him about, it must have really thrown him off.

 

Kyoya glanced at his phone. “Whatever happened, he still has to attend host-club.”

 

Haruhi raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit harsh, Senpai.”

 

Kyoya frowned a little. “He ought to have informed me of his sickness earlier, then. Illness is no excuse for unprofessional behaviour.”

 

“Ah~ I don’t think he’s coming today,” Kaoru pressed his face against the window.

 

“What?” Tamaki leap from the sofa.

 

A familiar head of orange turned around the expensive fountain, heading lazily towards the school gate.

 

“Come on,” Haruhi sprinted down the corridor, “Let’s find out what’s wrong with him.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kon let out a sigh as he passed the gates, relief washing over him. Just as he’d gotten used to Ichigo’s friends in the first school, he’d moved and thrown him into a different one! His head really couldn’t handle any of the stuff he’d been shown today—his studying would have to double, if not triple to keep up with Ichigo’s sky-rocketing grades. He groaned. What a pain.

 

He slipped headphones over his ears and relaxed his frown. It wasn’t all doom and gloom. At least he had his own proper body again, and the girl’s uniform was so cute! Something like a posh maid, with plenty of frills and such a fetching shade of yellow! He hummed in approval, closing his eyes.

 

Shouting muffled over the music, but he ignored it. He was used to shouting—Karakura High had been particularly full of it.

 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around, raising a fist to—

 

A particularly pretty-looking guy huffed behind him, eyeing his raised fist.

 

He lowered it sheepishly and slipped off his headphones. “Yo.”

 

“I-Ichigo!” The boy breathed, puffing. “Ichigo, it’s okay, whatever happened we can deal with it.”

 

“Uh,” Kon nodded. How much had Ichigo told these guys? He hadn’t even mentioned that he’d made friends with anyone. “Thanks,” He half-smiled.

 

A small gaggle of other boys caught up with them, in varying stages of exhaustion. They all looked rather... eccentric, but he guessed that’s what rich kids generally looked like.

 

“You have to come back,” A guy with glasses said.

 

“Ok,” said Kon, while the pretty-boy shot Glasses a sharp look.

 

They went back to the school in a gaggle, glancing nervously back at him. Kon realised he was doing something wrong, but he figured he could blame it on a bug or something until he got his bearings. He might not be the best at fighting or heroic acts, but he was the best Ichigo-impersonator there’d ever been and ever would be, and he’d done this all before.

 

Kon grinned. He could do this.

 

 

*

 

 

Whoever it was, it wasn’t Ichigo.

 

Kaoru snuck glanced when there was a lull in his hosting and saw more flaws in his acting with every second that passed. It was pretty distracting too, and he knew his brother saw it as well, from the looks he was sending over. They had to stop when the girls they were hosting noticed and started to try to follow their gaze.

 

It was hard to put into words, but Ichigo had this edge to him. He tensed up slightly when people moved to suddenly or got too close, even as he tried to relax his muscles. Ichigo’s eyes seemed almost magnetically drawn to windows, to the distance, and his gaze always drifted back to the open blue sky or a point on the ceiling no matter what they were talking about. He didn’t smile very often, and when he did it was a warm, and oddly familiar, even though they’d only know him around two weeks now. It was nothing like the overjoyed beam the imposter smacked on his face every two seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by his own ability to talk and move and express himself.

 

The imposter seemed to have a lot more social grace about him as well, full and undivided attention focused completely on his customers, who seemed flattered and flustered. He never once gazed into the distance or lost track of the conversation. There was no quietness about him.

 

For the first time, the twins waited anxiously for the host-club’s session to end. An agonising hour later, and they barely waited for the guests to leave before stalking over.

 

The imposter jerked his head up, smile vanishing before their glares.

 

“You’re not who you say you are.” Hikaru growled, moving faster.

 

The imposter leapt from the sofa, stumbling over his leg. He backed towards the wall and hit it with a thud, “Wait!” He shielded his face, “Wait, wait, wait!”

 

“You are not Ichigo Kurosaki.” Kaoru glared.

 

“You’re his twin!” Hikaru announced.

 

 

*

 

 

Kon peered through his fingers, heart thumping. _Twin_. He slid to the floor, sighing in relief. He’d thought they were Shinigami, or Quincies, or Arrancar or another of the monstrous ghoulies that always wanted to kill Ichigo! Oh, thank god something finally went his way for once. “You got me,” He admitted, weakly.

 

“Oh!” The pretty boy—Haruhi—looked over. “That makes sense, I guess.”

 

Hikaru helped him up, grinning devilishly. “Yep! We know a twin when we see one.”

 

“So if you’re not Ichigo, what’s your name?” Tamaki leant over the back of the sofa.

 

“Uh—uh,” Kon’s heart was still racing, but his head had cleared a little. “I’m Kon.”

 

“Kon?” Haruhi raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah. King Of New York... not really.” He sighed and leant against the table.

 

“So where’s Ichigo?”

 

“I don’t know.” Kon sighed.

 

“He’s never mentioned a twin.” Kyoya frowned. More importantly, his _files_ never mentioned a twin. However, files, it was distressing to admit, were rarely perfect, especially when it came to commoners. Still, he’d make an enquiry.

 

“Yeah well,” Kon shrugged. He really had no explanation for all these questions. Master of impersonation, my ass. But really, why hadn’t Ichigo stuck with his old friends who never really asked any questions or got too personal? What’s with all this I-Care-About-Your-Well-Being crap?

 

“So... Ichigo’s missing.” Haruhi asked, frowning.

 

“Yep.” Kon nodded. _Missing_... that wasn’t too bad? Did they get police involved in Missing cases? He couldn’t really remember. It was much better than saying he was far away, or on somebody’s farm, that was how they always caught ’em out on the TV.

 

Haruhi frowned into her tea. Missing. That was awful. From what she could piece together, it sounded like Ichigo had contacted his mysterious twin to take his place in school while he visited his friend Rukia, and then turned up missing. She sighed. She didn’t want to pry too deep—Ichigo seemed like a personal kind-of guy. But she didn’t want to leave it be and let it get worse either. So she asked, “Who’s Rukia?”

 

Rukia! Kon’s eyes widened. Oh, man. He needed to throw them off the scent real quick. “Nobody,” He said, casually. “Look, if you— _we_ want to find Ichigo why don’t we visit his parents?”

 

Haruhi looked unsure. “You’re sure they won’t mind?”

 

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, they won’t mind.” Kon grinned. “His sister loves cooking and guests.”

 

Hikaru hesitated, and then corrected him, “ _Your_ sister.”

 

Kon’s grin wobbled. “Yep.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Here we are!” Kon said, jumping hastily from the car/limo Glasses had called.

 

The Kurosaki clinic was as modest as ever, half-homely half-tumbledown. Vines had crept along the walls gently, exposing the brick under the thick white. The sign still shone brightly, freshly painted and shinning in the dull streetlamps. The small, dark hedges fluttered in the evening breeze.

 

They were half-way across the lawn before they realised Kon wasn’t following them.

 

“Aren’t you coming in?” Hikaru asked.

 

Kon wavered at the gate. His bright hair glowed in the streetlight, but the rest of him faded away by comparison, cloaked in dark shadows. He cleared his throat. “No.”

 

“Don’t you want to see your family?” Haruhi asked, taking a small step towards him.

 

Kon almost flinched. “Ah, no. Look I—” He flailed for an excuse, “—I fell out with them, and if you could, don’t mention that I told you stuff. Just, don’t mention me at all!” Kon darted away from the light, slipping into the shadows.

 

“Hey, what—?” Kaoru cut himself off, staring into the dark shadows. Kon was already gone. He sighed. “Well, that was weird.”

 

“Yeah...” Hikaru dragged his eyes from the shadows, and moved towards the clinic. “C’mon.”

 

 

*

 

 

Kon slowed down when he’d passed a few blocks, dipping back into the streetlight. Air ghosted his lips in a puff of white, and he closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he hated impersonating Ichigo, heck, he didn’t even mind lying. He wasn’t some preacher who believed lies would send you straight to hell and it was never okay to tell an untruth. Life was lies and everybody was a liar. Especially him. Impersonating Ichigo was just what had to be done, just like Ichigo fighting monsters even though he was just a human had to be done, things didn’t work any other way around. It wasn’t really like he was stealing Ichigo’s identity either, he’d had permission and goat-face already knew.

 

He pushed his hands deeper into the slips of velvet that passed for pockets for these fancy rich boys and gazed at the black rooftops. Yeah, it wasn’t that. It was his family that was the problem.

 

When he’d have to go home, he tried hard to ignore the guilty feeling he’d get every time Yuzu grinned at him for avoiding fights or every time Karin thanked him for helping with her homework. It felt bad, really bad, to the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t avoid it in case it blew his cover, or worse, ruined Ichigo’s relationship with his family. Then, he would feel _really_ guilty.

 

The evening was quickening into night, and the air stung against his face. A convenience store flooded him with startling yellow light that tinged him like an old photograph. He passed it quickly, dipping back into the shadows.

 

Whenever the sisters got involved, he felt really dirty. It was just, _fundamentally_ wrong.

 

He shook his head.

 

There was a whip of movement in the corner of his eye.

 

He never saw what hit him.

 

 

*

 

 

The Kurosaki clinic was warm and bright and full of the smell of cooking food. Mr. Kurosaki ushered them in, grinning brightly about Ichigo never bringing friends home and treating everyone badly and was all in all a terrible son while his daughters reprimanded him sternly.

 

The kitchen was even brighter, a completely different place from the clean cafeterias or the cold, expensive dining rooms most of them were used to (It all reminded Haruhi a bit too much of her mother’s cooking and she had to duck out of the room for a moment to dry her eyes.)

 

The meal was fantastic, a wonderful hot curry that seemed to be enough for all of them even if they weren’t expected (“Yuzu _always_ makes extra,” The dark-haired girl informs them sharply.)

 

“So you don’t have any ideas where Ichigo could be?” Haruhi asked, a little bit impatient. She felt like she’d asked this a hundred times, but she had no idea how anyone could have no idea where their offspring was.

 

“Oh, Ichigo’s always been a wayward child,” Mr. Kurosaki lamented wistfully. “I didn’t even know where he was half the time when he was living in my house; I don’t know _how_ I should know where he is when he’s in a posh, fancy-pants school.” He sighed. “But he’ll turn up eventually, you mustn’t worry.”

 

Kaoru pushed his ice-cream around his bowl, and uncharacteristic frown etched on his face. “What about your other son?”

 

Mr. Kurosaki blinked in astonishment. “My _other_ son?”

 

Kaoru stared at him. “You know...” He said, quietly, “...Kon?”

 

Mr. Kurosaki frowned. “I only have one son.”

 

“Yeah,” The black haired girl nodded. “One’s enough, really.”

 

Hikaru stared, open mouthed. “Y-you’re sure?”

 

The black haired girl gave him a flat look. “ _Pretty sure_ ,” She said, voice dripping sarcasm.

 

“I think it’s time we left.” Kyoya stood up, suddenly. “Mr. Kurosaki, you’ll think on my deal?”

 

Mr. Kurosaki laughed. “The day I sell out to a big company is the day I die! Thanks anyway, kid! You’ll make a good entrepreneur one day!”

 

Kyoya nodded and led the rest of the group out.

 

 

*

 

 

“That was weird,” Kaoru followed close to his brother, unsettled. A secret twin? But Kon had said he’d fallen out with his parents and they weren’t supposed to mention him. He couldn’t imagine falling out with someone so badly they pretended he didn’t exist.

 

Hikaru nodded solemnly. “Where is Kon anyway?” He asked, quietly.

 

“He should be waiting by the car.” Kyoya sighed. “We can’t chase him all over Karakura, it’s already pretty late and he knows this place better than we do.”

 

Haruhi opened her mouth to say something, but closed it. This evening had been pretty weird all over. “I guess he never said he’d wait for us. He seemed pretty eager to leave.”

 

Kaoru nodded. “Let’s just go. I’m tired.”


	4. For The Judgement!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning especially this chapter for: Canon-typical violence, swearing

Kon’s body woke up before his mind.

 

He was suspended from his lower back, swinging gently like a cut of meat on a hook. He felt nauseous and heavy. It was an almost painful effort to open his eyes.

 

A slick black stone floor dipped in and out of focus beneath him, smooth as ice. If he strained his neck he could see a black, leather padded wall rise only a few feet away. It was like the rooms they had on pop music videos, posh and fashionable and fake.

 

He kicked his legs but found no resistance, and it was kind-of disconcerting. He pulled at his arms but they were strapped to his sides by what felt like a straitjacket.

 

Kon narrowed his gritty eyes. Oh, god, this was awful. Kidnapped. What a cliché.

 

A door opened behind him and he tried to swing around. He rocked forward horribly, pitching down sickeningly like it would tip him face-first into stone, metal hook screaming above him. He couldn’t control it, the more he kicked and struggled the more it tipped him forwards, fear rising gripping his insides in vices.

 

A hand closed around his ankle and he froze.

 

He stilled. The metal chain quietened to a whispering whine. The hand released him.

 

“Th-thanks.” Kon tried to turn his head, but the hook wouldn’t let him move too far.

 

“No problem.” A man said; his voice calm and almost melodic. He moved smoothly, like a lion. His hair was slick black, and his eyes were sharp and clear. He looked like the perfect mobster boss, physically intimidating but dark, wickedly clever eyes. He leaned back, sliding his hands into his pockets and tilting his head. He looked straight into Kon’s eyes, who shrunk back. “Tell me, where is Ichigo Kurosaki.”

 

“Ah-Ah-ah—...” Kon tried to shy away from the intense look. Should he lie? He desperately, desperately wanted to—but then they’d just come back and beat him harder. Maybe kill him. That’s what Yakuza did, wasn’t it? He tried to pull his face away. “I don’t know!” He yelped.

 

The man draws back, and his gaze levelled. He turns his head to the side slightly, looking at something Kon can’t see.

 

He nods.

 

Pain explodes along his ribs.

 

 

*

 

 

Tamaki picked up a sock between his finger and thumb, caught wind of it, and quickly dropped it again.

 

The entire apartment was a mess, really. Books and clothes littered the floor like an extra layer of carpet, schoolwork and empty noodle packets covered every work surface. The cupboards were filled with sparkling clean kitchenware that was untouched at Kon/Ichigo seemed to eat from the packet and just discard it immediately. Tamaki was in half a mind to call one of his maids over, but it seemed to cruel for any amount of money he paid her.

 

It was impossible to find any clues—how could you know if anything had been disturbed if the entire room looked like it had been picked up and shaken?

 

Tamaki pushed some rubbish off the sofa and perched on the edge. First Ichigo, now Kon. He was quite unused to all this secrecy. Where he came from, events were usually announced with a few years’ notice, if anything happened at all.

 

They had decided not to go to the police, anyhow. How could you report someone missing who didn’t seem to have any birth certificate or records of any kind? And as for Ichigo, who had gone to such lengths as calling a secret twin over to take his place...

 

“Nothing in the bedroom,” Kyoya appeared in the hallway, the smallest line in his forehead showing the frustration his voice doesn’t betray. “No messages on his phone for a month, at least. No letters or notices from anyone. We seem to be the only ones to have noticed.”

 

Tamaki spread over the sofa, sighing deeply. It had been three days. All these mysteries, they didn’t even know where to begin with looking. Nobody had seen anything, no leads... it wasn’t like this in the movies.

 

“Maybe we should check the libraries?” Honey appeared from under a pile of empty crisp wrappers, wrinkling his nose for a second. “Kon and Ichigo seem to really like books!”

 

Tamaki nodded It’s a place to start.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Tamaki glanced at the window, and his eyes widened.

 

A boy leant against the window frame, pale hair golden in the bright sunlight. He looked at them, half-in half-out of the window, a Game-boy resting against his chest. “Are you Ichigo’s friends?” He asked. His pale eyes flicker over them, and then rise to the hallway where Haruhi’s shape moved through the mounds of rubbish. “Is this all of you?”

 

“The rest are in the other rooms.” Kyoya glanced at him, trying to find a rope or a pulley. Did he slide down from the balcony above?

 

“Gather them, I’ve got information to give them,” The boy swung his leg around the window sill, and his dark hat casts his eyes in shadows. His Game-boy floods his face with blue.

 

Nervously they all filed in, standing among the rubbish like weeds in a pond. They all waited, half hesitantly half excited.

 

The boy’s Game-boy let out a metallic chime, and 8-bit music breaks the air.

 

“( **ITEM #18) PRISON (x7)** ” The boy announced.

 

The rush of computerised police cars made it difficult to see anything, zips of red, black and blue fill the air like fireflies, dancing shadows against the wall. The sound rose like the tides, blocking out their shouts of surprise, of fear. And then...

 

And then he was alone.

 

The boy shook his head at the quiet, darkened room. Was it just him, or was this getting easier?

 

 

*

 

 

Pain flared like a live-wire in his veins, shooting heat across his stomach and burning through his brain. He gasped, and blood prickled the back of his mouth. His lungs had forgotten how to take in oxygen, and he gagged on air, spitting and spluttering. His sides felt horrible, thick with bruises and heavy, heavy, heavy. His ribs seemed to grind together every time he breathed out.

 

Kon swore, and his voice came with a crackle like an old radio. “What am I, lady, a fucking Piñata?!”  

 

The lady lifted the heart shaped bat and he flinched, but she only rested it on her shoulder this time. She glared sharply. “Place nice, ugly, your friends are here. Or Ichigo’s friends, I guess.”

 

Kon stared, and his eyes narrowed.

 

The lady snatched him by the hair and dragged him around. He tried to pull away, but her fingernails dug into his scalp.

 

And there they were. The gaggle of fresh-faced young men Ichigo had apparently made friends with from Ouran. Tied to the sofa, faces etched deep with fear. The little one was already crying, and the girlish one and the blonde one were pretty close.

 

Kon narrowed his tired eyes. Ichigo would have a lot less problems if he stuck to the edges of social groups rather than attracting everyone and everything like the goddamn sun.

 

The lady released his hair and let him swing back into place, stomach flipping over. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

Every time he moved his head, there was a sensation like it was a rain stick, and all the beads were being shifted. They scattered against his skull, bouncing off the vault of bone and settling uneasily. It was horrible. Really, he had the worst luck ever.

 

“You’ll have to excuse our inhospitality.” The mobster took long strides, appearing from the shadows like a long, lazy panther, hips moving smoothly. “We cannot untie your arms and force-feeding you would be quite undignified.”

 

The mobster rested his arm on Kon’s shoulders. Kon didn’t even try to shake him off, dipping his head into the white folds of his straitjacket.

 

“This charming young man,” The mobster nodded towards Kon’s sunken head, “Wears the face of an important... business opportunity for us here at the Xcution. If you know where he is, please, do speak up. We will let you go immediately after we have verified it. We will even grace you to a drink at our table.”

 

The young men were all silent. The both blondes were now crying, the taller one dipping his head into his chest.

 

“Pretty loyal, are we?” The mobster sighs. “You’re sure?”

 

His question met only silence.

 

The mobster’s hand drifted down to grip Kon’s neck. “Doubly sure?”

 

Their eyes widened.

 

“Hey—!” The bespectacled one said, hurriedly, “What do you need from him? Money? I—we—could provide you with nearly any sum—is it a person or a thing you need to locate? We have maps—”

 

“Thank you,” He said, cutting him off gently. “It seems you really don’t know. There is no use prolonging the inevitable.”

 

He snatched Kon’s chin and forced his head up. He watched the fear burn into the dark brown eyes. The mobster smiled a little. “Tell me, do creatures like you feel pain?”

 

Kon twisted suddenly to the right, sending a splintering kick to the mobster’s face. He dodged—barely—and the kick still sent him reeling.

 

The mobster’s smile vanished, and his gaze darkened. “Restrain him.”

 

There was a poof of smoke and a heart-printed belt snaps his legs neatly together.

 

Kon struggled, twisting in his bindings. He was powerless, completely and utterly for the second time in his life. Even as a stuffed animal it hadn’t been this bad.

 

Kon felt like a caterpillar in a spider’s grip. The mobster caught his chin in vice-like fingers, dragging his head up again. He felt his chin grind as he tried to pull away.

 

The mobster’s free hand spread over Kon’s face, catching his nose in a fist. He forced Kon’s mouth open, hooking his fingers around his teeth.

 

Kon let out a squeal, jerking backwards. He was going to die. Die!

 

He screamed around the hand plunging down his throat.

 

The wall exploded.

 

Dust enveloped them, thick and gritty. Rubble was suddenly everywhere, as the mobster moved it seemed constantly in his way.

 

The mobster turned to face a humongous fist.

 

Kon watched the mobster sail out of the cloud and connect with the wall with a bone-shattering crash.

 

The dust settled.

 

Something huge came out of it.

 

“Chad!!” Kon called, grinning and letting out a wheeze of relief. “Thank god, Chad!! I thought I was going to die!”

 

“Ah,” The giant man walked over and unhooked him, stripping the belt from his legs with a swipe of his huge hand. He held him just above the ground. “Can you walk?”

 

Kon nodded vigorously and instantly regretted it, wincing. His brain felt like bleeding mush. Chad set him down gently, and undid the straitjacket with a quick snap of leather.

 

Kon pulled it off awkwardly, careful to upset any ribs, and tossed it aside. He could breathe easier, but it felt like he was about to crumble in on himself. He frowned deeply, cradling his throbbing ribs.

 

“Do you think you could protect Ichigo’s friends? Get them out of here.” Chad spread an arm in front of Kon, watching warily as the mobster rose to his feet.

 

“Ok,” Kon said, unnecessarily, and hobbled off as fast as he could.

 

Ichigo’s friends all looked shocked, some of them speaking fast—too fast and choppily for his mushy, mushy brain to even pick up—but they all silenced as he squatted awkwardly at the knot that tied them together.

 

Luckily there was only one. He began to gnaw through it, grinding it between his teeth. It tasted disgusting, but no more than the mobster’s arm had.

 

Eventually it loosened enough for him to pull it apart. Cheap rope or what? He guessed thick, heavy rope didn’t really look that cute. He didn’t want to question it—it looked like things were finally going his way!

 

The world flooded with black.

 

Pixels danced in front of his eyes, nearly blinding him.

 

Kon struggled to his feet, turning reluctantly.

 

A huge dragon filled his vision, thick and black spewing pixelated fire like a volcano. Its six, thick legs shifted as its heavy head dipped towards him, dark eyes narrowed. A boy sat behind its pale spines, holding a Game-boy against his chest.

 

With a flick of the pale boy’s hand, Ichigo’s friends lifted, gravity no longer paying them dues. They floated up and up into the blackness, till they piled together and a bubble spread around them. It glinted all the colours of the rainbow, obscuring them from view.

 

Kon’s eyes drifted down, fixing tiredly on the colossal beast.

 

The pale boy’s Game-boy flattened against his knees, bathing him in blue.

 

“ **STAGE 0,** ” He announced, in monotone, “ **Save The Prince(s)!!** ”

 

“Fucking hell,” Kon rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I slipped out of tenses a lot writing this one, so notify me if I did it again. 
> 
> This was a weird chapter to write. The full-bringers are weird to start off with, and nearly everyone in this chapter is in a situation they haven't really been in in their canons. I don't really know how to characterize the full-bringers, would they do something like this? I'm 77% sure they would, after what they did to Ishida, even as an accessory. But in the latest chapters, they seem all buddy-buddy with Ichigo, which is weird. After a while, I figured that even if I worked at art for three years, saved up my money and moved to Japan, talked to all the right people and got an interview with Tite Kubo himself, and I asked him this, I think he would just shrug. So I'm like, what the hell? I like this plot. 
> 
> As for how The Ouran Gaggle would/will deal with this... I'll just write how any normal teenager would react as best I can. they're still just kids, after all. 
> 
> Before I leave you, I gotta say, that pale game kid whose name escapes me, his power's supposed to be game-related, but it's like he's never played a game in his life. Pixelated text =/= game aesthetic. 
> 
> Kon should get a fight scene next chapter (It's true, pick your jaws off the floor.) !
> 
> TTFN~


	5. STAGE 0!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pale boy watched coolly from the crest of a magnificently huge dragon—an honest-to-god dragon, as if Kon’s day could get any worse. Its white, pupil-less eyes glowed from the depths of a craggy pitch face, spitting steam like curses into the black arena.

The pale boy watched coolly from the crest of a magnificently huge dragon—an honest-to-god dragon, as if Kon’s day could get any worse. Its white, pupil-less eyes glowed from the depths of a craggy pitch face, spitting steam like curses into the black arena. 

Kon shifted his weight, sizing the dragon up. There was no way he could attack directly—running up the dragon’s sides would be useless, it’d just pick him off like a troublesome flea. He could always try, but the decision to run headlong at a giant dragon was likely to be the last bad decision he ever made. 

“Would You Like Me To Explain The Rules?” The boy asked, politely. His voice seemed to chime, reflected from every angle of the black void-like arena, slightly metallic and off-putting. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Kon blinked up at him. Would he even be able to hear him from up there? 

“I Am LEVIATHAN The Final Boss Battle, Terror Of The XCUTION. Your Prince(S) Sit Helplessly Above Me. Should You Defeat Me, They Will Be Returned To Your Side. Should You Fail...” The boy’s gaze sharpened on Kon. Behind him, a giant pin materialised beside the bubble, glinting menacingly. 

Kon swallowed. 

“Here’s our HP,” The boy gestured to two green bars, one with the dragon’s head, and one with Kon’s next to it. Kon’s was already missing a quarter. “When it runs out... I think you know what’ll happen. Are You Ready, Hero?”

Kon shifted backwards, scowling. This would be difficult, a real, actual fight. He’d never really fought anyone worth fighting, but he’d sure as hell played enough games to have some idea how this would work. He gritted his teeth. 

Unlike the pixel-heavy health bar and the way the ground moved in blocks, the dragon looked real. Real muscles shimmered under the onyx skin, a sheen of red glinted across its heavy chest, its eyes glowed like headlights, scowling down at him. It was big, bigger than big. It was the size of a building. 

And he was going to kick the shit out of it. 

“Bring it on!” Kon shouted. 

The dragon lunged for him, and Kon was barely able to get out of the way. Black blocks shattered into real stone, slashing his cheeks as he spun, leaping over the sword-size teeth. Kon leapt clean over the dragon’s heavy neck, skimming the ground in a wide arch before dipping under its huge tail. 

The tail swooped down as the dragon reared, screeching like thunder. Its eyes were wild and blindingly bright, cutting streams of light into Kon’s eyes as it spun. Its teeth were so close, all he could do was scramble backwards before they closed on his afterimage. 

It was less of a fight and more of a game of cat-and-flea. Their size difference was the only thing that kept Kon alive. 

The shadow stretched over him, and Kon squealed. 

“Player One Avoided Attack,” The boy announced, the slightest of frowns marring his forehead. “It’s your turn, Hero.” 

Kon panted, heart beating like a trapped bird in his chest, thrashing against his ribs. Oh god, oh god... He couldn’t—He couldn’t... Unless he had a plan... He’d... his ribs ached something fierce, throbbing like he was still being beaten up and every heartbeat was a crack of the bat. He doubled over, wheezing at the black floor. His eyes widened. He grinned. 

“O... okay.” Kon grinned up at the terrible beast. “Okay.” 

 

*

 

Blade met fist with a terrible clang. 

Metal squealed against his Brazo Derecha de Gigante, grinding furiously. Chad twisted his hand to grip the blade, but it was already whipped back, Kūgo loping out of reach, scowling deeply.

Chad smacked a soft toy that Rirukia had summoned out of the way, glaring. “What happened, Kūgo? I thought you wanted to help Ichigo! Why did you kidnap his friends?!” 

Kūgo shifted his shoulders, lifting his blade. “Really, Chad? I wouldn’t have pegged you for naïve. Why would I be human—” He raised his blade to head height, glaring down its edge.

“—When I can be—” 

Kūgo sped forward, blade glinting like silver fire. 

“—so much more?!” 

His blade pierced flesh. 

 

*

 

Haruhi pressed to the edge of the bubble, squinting down at the battlefield. She’d been hesitant to touch it at first, but since they were putting their weight on it, it seemed to hold pretty well. It was slightly slimy but she got over tha pretty quickly. 

Below her, the dragon circled like a swirling black stain. It seemed to fade into the featureless arena at the edges, where the light didn’t catch it. 

Kon looked so small from up there, a dot of brilliant orange in a sea of black. He moved so fast, but only barely darted out of the way each time. 

And then, they stopped. The dragon’s tail twisted in the black, it jutted its neck and huffed impatiently, but they’d stopped. 

Kon jumped. 

It was like those old Karate films Haruhi watched—gravity didn’t seem to apply anymore. He just went up and up and up, until—

He came down. 

The blackness shattered on impact, a cascade of heavy stone, in a ripple around his feet. He straightened up in the settling dust, and glared. 

The boy with white hair startled, pulling up slightly at the sound. He raised an eyebrow. “A taunt? Good job, I guess. I lose—”

“It’s not a taunt,” Kon said. His voice streamed through the bubble with a crackle like speakers. Kon hooked a foot under he cracked rock, flipping it up. 

Obsidian shattered against the dragon’s muzzle, drawing blood in scarlet streams. Rock after rock exploded against its hide and it shrank away, raising its wings protectively. Hit after hit dragged the HP counter down, and the dragon’s back curved against the edge of the arena, howling like a wounded animal. 

Kon’s rock hit its mark. 

Leviathan was blinded. 

 

*

 

Chad was gone. 

Kūgo whipped his head around, searching the shadows. He cursed himself again for letting Yukio only partially light the room. Proper atmosphere my ass, Kūgo glared into the cobweb shadows, proper atmosphere was going to get him killed. Chad haunted the shadows that had once seemed so soporific, souring them to real darkness, the fearful unknown. 

Rirukia’s shout of surprise was cut off, and she slumped to the ground, dazed. 

Kūgo only spared her a half glance, keeping his eyes to the thick shadows, turning slowly. He saw a flurry of movement and then—

It was like being hit by a bullet train. 

He was out before he hit the ground. 

 

*

 

The boy’s knuckles were white on the dragon’s scales, and his grip was slippery on the writhing dragon. Fear brightened his features, and his gaze was frantic. His dragon was blind. That reduced his aim by 98%, since Leviathan was a fire-type it couldn’t smell as well, and its hearing was poor. 

Kon sunk back to a crouch, breathing heavily. His ribs were burning, hot and stinging terribly under his sticky shirt, and he could hardly see. But he glanced happily at the dragon’s HP bar—it only had an eight left. Without its eyes, he could almost dodge without using his mod powers. His heart leapt. It looked like he would actually win! Oh, god, this was too good to be true. 

The boy straightened up with a hot glare. His mouth twitched into a tiny smirk. 

Kon felt his stomach drop. Why was he smiling?! This really couldn’t be good. 

“(ITEM #5) MEGA HEAL (X2)” The boy raised an arm slightly, and the dragon shifted. Its ragged neck shifted and blurred, reforming stronger and heavier, scars knitting themselves together in a whizz of pixels. Its eyes fired white, with real, searing anger. 

“Oh shit—fuck!! That’s not fucking fair!” Kon whined, jutting his chin. “What the fuck, man?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t used to such an uncouth opponent. “Unless you kill me in one hit, you’re done for.” 

“Wait—Can I do that too?” Kon blinked at him. 

“Um, no... Sorry, hero, you didn’t collect any items during your journey.” 

Kon mumbled a stream of violent curses, squaring his shoulders and bending his knees, readying himself for the dragon’s attack. 

“(ITEM 75#) FIRE OF THE LEVIATHAN [MAGIC]” 

A jet of intense heat streamed from the dragon’s mouth like the blade of a sword, and Kon couldn’t move fast enough.

Kon’s arms were yanked back, and he hit the wall with a crack that nearly shattered his spine. His head rang like a hundred car alarms, blotting out all thought in a buzz of constant sound. He could barely see, colours fizzing and popping in front of his eyes, his heart hammering like a drum inside his chest—

The beast was coming for him, and it would eat him alive. 

Kon writhed, slamming his feet into the black stone, bucking and shouting. He screamed. 

The beast lunged. 

Stone shattered. 

The boy laughed, until—

Stone hit him like an anvil, knocking him from his saddle. 

He slipped, scrabbling at the slick black scales. His heart stuttered in his chest, he couldn’t hold on, he was falling, falling, falling—

The boy collided with the stone, in the shadow of the beast. 

 

*

 

The pod dissolved, light spilling into the black arena. Ichigo’s friends were deposited like luggage, stumbling over each other, stumbling towards Kon. 

Chad walked towards them, scanning Kon’s—Ichigo’s body. He’d taken quite a bit of damage from the metal bat, and was trying his hardest to cradle his ribs with his elbows while his hands were still fused into a solid block of stone. He was bleeding somewhere in his neon hairline, streaks of sticky red-brown coating his hair, and his gaze was unfocused. He tried to say something, but it came out as a jumble of slurred sounds. One of his legs gave out and he sunk suddenly to his knees. 

Chad hung back. The teenagers were probably scared, and they seemed more comfortable around Kon. 

The littlest one bounded forwards, talking quickly. Kon regarded him with half-focused eyes, but let him hold his stone-encased hands up. 

The little one leapt, and landed, karate-chopping the stone into splinters. 

Chad raised an eyebrow.

“Wow, wow, wow wooow,” Kon said, head lolling slightly to the side. “Tha-that’s—that’s—that’s—”

Chad lifted him up, throwing him over his shoulder. “You guys should get home soon. Stay inside for a bit, get some rest.” 

“Will—will you and Kon be alright?” One of them asked, looking up at him with big, sparkling eyes. 

Chad frowned. They knew this wasn’t Ichigo? He decided to ask Kon about it later, and nodded solemnly. “He will be fine. The most useful thing you can do now is keep yourself safe and avoid hollows.” 

“H-hollows? Are these people called hollows?” 

Chad turned to look at them. “It is part of a conversation you are overdue. I will see you some other time.” 

Chad disappeared through the ragged maw of the wall, vanishing into the afternoon sun. 

 

*

 

“Wow,” Isshin Kurosaki raised his eyebrows as Chad stooped through the window, carrying the bloody remains of his son, “I thought I told Kon to look after his body.”

Chad shrugged Kon’s limp body onto the table, straightening him out. “It was my fault.” He said, darkly. 

Isshin sighed and knelt to rootle through the cabinet. “I should have some medicines from Kisuke left over. It’ll be enough to set him right on his way to healing. What happened to him anyway?” He picked a small black bottle from the odd assortment of sizes and shapes, flipping the lid to pour the pills into the cup of his palm. 

“Attacked with a metal bat, then by a fire-breathing dragon.” 

Isshin huffed out a laugh. “What kids get up to these days... It sure is a lot wilder than what I used to do.”

 

*

 

Kyoya Ootori slumped against his crush velvet pillows, taking no comfort in the way they rise around his head like a cloud, or the way his mattress curves to his side to match him so perfectly. His problems are not ones luxury can smooth out so easily. They never are. 

He pulls off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He does not like not knowing things, not at all, and yet Ichigo Kurosaki is a bundle of inexplicable, ineffable moments it is so irritating it grinds up his insides like nothing else. 

It sounds like the plot to a bad mystery, only explained by an extraordinary deux ex machina. A sudden unexplainable absence, a mysterious twin who jumps like a flea, an possible connection to the mob(?), a muscular heroic friend, a tragic past... It seemed far too much like one of Renge’s bad romance novels. 

One thing was for certain, he’d get to the bottom of this or his name wasn’t Kyoya Ootori!

He groaned. Even his internal monologue was getting clichéd. He rolled over, and fished his phone from his bedside table. He already knew who the saviour was, of course. Yasutora “Chad” Sado was in the same class as Ichigo throughout his time at Karakura High, and the two were apparently close friends, feared around Karakura for their demonic strength. 

Kyoya had not really investigated him that much—only as much as he’d looked into Ichigo’s other friends (without success) but he knew enough. He knew Chad’s phone number, for one.

His phone turned on with a chime, and he began typing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for canonity--*spoilers for manga*---Ichigo moved from Karakura before he could be recruited into the Xcution side-quest, and was recalled to Karakura to gain the reiatsu from the captains. He's probably messing about in Soul Society right now, fighting quincies and alike. He may not reappear for quite some time. :)


	6. Left For The Rain!!

The fifth time Kyoya's phone went off, the look his father gave him was less exasperated and a lot more like annoyance borderline indignation. 

Reluctantly, Kyoya switched it off and slipped it into his pocket, hand itching to pull it back out. With a great effort he managed to school his face out of the bitter annoyance it had adopted, and pulled it back to the cool indifference that was so trademark in his family. 

He rested his head on the padded framework of a car that was probably worth more than any one normal person made in a lifetime. Outside was perfect funeral weather, faded grey and shot through with bleak rain. 

Yasutora just didn't make any sense, and it buzzed at the back of his mind throughout the car-ride. At first, Ichigo's friend had been short, making brief answers to questions that just raised more and more questions. He answered in the shortest, least sensible answers possible.

It was infuriating, like drawing blood out of a stone. Kyoya had always been spoilt by an excess of information; birth records, medical records, student files, newspaper articles, speculation and facts; he was used to having to sort through massive piles of information, recognising and evaluating importance in a quick, logical method. 

The car pulled up the mausoleum's drive, gravel crunching and grinding under the tires. 

It was a bleak place. Rain-washed trees bent like mourners, sprawling their branches over half-broken gravestones the colour of misery. The rain had let up, the air was fresh, but terribly cold. The horizon blurred reds and browns like welling tears. 

Kyoya pushed open the door, shaking his hair to hide his eyes. As hard as he'd tried, he was never able to fake sadness. 

His family followed him, straightening their skirts and suits, brushing invisible dust to hide their faces from the party of mourners. They didn't look at the Ootori family as they approached, backs bent and entirely silent. It was like they were already ghosts. 

Kyoya settled on the edge of the crowd—close enough to hear the ceremony, but not too close—and watched. He didn't want to be included in whatever networking people thought was acceptable during a funeral. He was mainly ignored, but people seemed to like to try their luck even if he didn't have anything to offer them.

He was cold, it seemed through his shoes and settling inside his bones. He took a breath. He couldn't stamp his feet. 

Kyoya's eyes flew open. 

It couldn't be—

He took a step forward, staring. It couldn't, it couldn't—

The dead man drifted through the crowd, slipping through the guests, glaring sullenly. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo—instead the floating hospital gown he'd died in. He floated closer. 

“—look at all of you, being sad! You arrogant bastards! I never liked you, don't look like that, there's no way you're getting anything in my will! Don't cry! I never wanted anyone… to...” The man's gaze landed on Kyoya's locking eyes with him.

The man floated closer. His legs were gone, floating mist like a dream. His glare softened a little, in surprise. “Can you see me? You're one of the Ootori boys, aren't you?” 

Kyoya nodded, on instinct. 

“Fancy that! A son of that stuffy old man, an empath!” The ghost rumbled a laugh. 

Kyoya fainted.

 

*

 

Haruhi was in trouble. 

It was really weird how things turned out, wasn't it? Didn't have so much as a scuffle in school in all her years, and now, this was the second time she'd been in a life-or-death situation in the same week! No wonder her old teachers always referred to teenagers as “the most troublesome years”. 

She skidded around the edge of the building, grass slipping under her useless plimsolls. 

The horrible beast followed her. 

It looked like someone had taken a photograph of a deformed chicken, and merged it with some kind of black squid monster. Its tentacles crashed against the stone of the building's side, roaring that horrible, bone-crushing roar. Its howls of anger grated like sandpaper against her ears. 

The tingle returned to her palms like pins and needles, irritating and distracting. It was a raw, instinctive feeling, like words on the tip of her tongue. 

She bolted, leaping over a park bench. 

Haruhi was no sprinter—the most exercise she'd regularly done was about a year in the swim team three years ago. It'd barely been half a mile and she was ready to collapse. 

The beast rumbled after her like a freight train, tentacles thrashing wildly. 

The itch in her palms was like a burning trapped under her skin. 

Instinctively, she reached her arms up—

There was a burst of colour and sound, intensely bright like a firework. 

The beast stopped, tentacles trembling. Its head pulled down, eyes shining white stars, beaming like headlights in the night. Its howl had stopped, and the silence was even more terrible. 

Haruhi shifted her head, and felt more hair than she was used to fall around her shoulders. She grabbed it, and held it up to the light. It was burnt orange, like copper wire, curling around her fingers. Her face sat differently too. It tingled slightly, like a too-tight mask, forming strange against her skin. 

The beast whined, and crackled. “Manami…?” Its jaws shook. 

Haruhi took a step back. “No I—!”

“Take that!” 

The beast turned, too late. Its mask was cleaved cleanly in two. 

As the beast fell, a figure landed in its wake, glancing at her. He was short and gangly, with a sword he held awkwardly. His hair was a sort of murky green, like pond weed. He grinned at her, awkwardly. “Are you okay miss? Can you see me?” 

Haruhi spluttered, stumbling away. 

“Hey wait!” He cried. 

But Haruhi was already running. The way he'd cut that beast up—she couldn't stop and think. Her chest was already heaving, but she pushed herself forward, stumbling out of the park's gates and darting down the mostly empty street. 

The stranger gave chase, yelling after her. 

She skidded into an alley, pulling her skirt sharply after her, hunching up. A hot-dog vendor gave her a strange look and she tried to look as casual as possible. Eventually, he looked away, shrugging. 

Haruhi sighed, and straightened her skirts. It was kind of dirty in the alley, but it was better than being chased by a such a weird and sword-proficient stranger. Honestly she'd had quite enough of magic weirdos for a while. Perhaps forever. It was only the other day when some freak had put her in a giant bubble and forced Kon to fight a dragon. 

“Hey! Human!” The stranger materialised.

She squeaked, slapping both hands on his chest. 

There was flash of light, and her hair whipped around. 

The stranger's eyes widened, and he stumbled back. All the colour drained from his face. He mumbled a name, too quiet to hear. 

Haruhi ducked under his shaking arm, slipping into the evening. 

 

*

 

Kon's arms ached. His whole body ached. He was pretty sure his eternal soul would ache pretty bad too, if he actually had one. Everything ached. It all ached. He was made of aches, all tied together with pains and twinges. 

He groaned. 

He'd missed a lot of school too, going missing for a couple days. It was nothing new though. He tossed the homework one of the rich kids had so helpfully dropped off onto the pile of other homework and revision that he'd have to do at some point. He would do it eventually of course. Just not right now. 

Right now was television time, and nobody would do anything to interrupt television time, not on his watch. Not hollows, not quincies, not Shinigami, not Ichigo freaking Kurosaki could stop him now. He settled down into the familiar heap of garbage, and reached for the remote. 

His fingers barely brushed the glossy plastic before the doorbell rang. 

 

*

 

“So you believe me?” Kyoya asked, still shaken up. He had refrained from touching the lukewarm tea he'd been given, instead cradled it to his chest for warmth. 

“What, that ghost crap? Happens all the time.” Kon said, bitterly. It was bad manners to watch television while he had guests, god-dammit. Whoever came up with this shit was a damn masochist. “It's not even a Hollow.” 

“What is a Hollow?” Kyoya asked. 

“Oh. Okay, so when you die, right? You become a classic, floaty ghost, they're called Wholes. And you've gotta wait for a Shinigami—that's Ichigo, basically—to send you off to Soul Society. If you get too mad, or you're resentful, as a ghosty, you become this big evil monster called a Hollow. They eat souls, and the more they eat the more powerful they get.” Kon briefed, gazing longingly at the television set. 

“Oh.” Kyoya shifted his grip on the tea, pushing his glasses up with its steaming rim. He didn't quite know how to feel. He'd seen a ghost, and yet… he could pass it off as a hallucination, if he strained. He scrubbed the steam from his glasses and squinted at Kon's blank face. Was he joking? 

Kon scrubbed at his chin and sniffed. He was missing a Cazh Soul double bill. 

Kyoya sighed, and shuffled in his seat. “You're—”

The door burst in, and Haruhi stumbled through. “Hey! Kon!” She gasped, stumbling forward. “Kon!” 

Kon blinked. Haruhi was a guy, right? Why was he wearing such girly clothing? 

“Kon! What—I—What's, what's going on with this place? What's with all the weird things, a-and the ghosts!” She was panting heavily, arms and knees shaking. “Hey?”

Kon looked up at her. 

“W-what?” She huffed. 

He sighed, and got up, slowly. “Look, just call your friends and come with me.”

 

*

 

“So that's basically it.” Kon finished up. 

The school was as good a place as any. The big whiteboards it had were easy to use, and the place was relatively easy to break into from the second floor. The golden gilded bookcases cast long shadows on the bright orange evening sun that spread across the smooth floor. 

“Buh-wuh…?” Tamaki squinted at the weird squiggle on the whiteboard. It had a big, helpful label, which didn't make any more sense. “Is this a commoner's attempt at humour? I don't understand...” 

“It's true,” Kyoya spoke up, voice sharp and cold. 

Tamaki stared at him. “That's just cra—”

“And me, senpai,” Haruhi blinked up at him. 

Tamaki stared at her, too. “You two...” He looked between them, surprise painting his features. “...Are trying to play a joke on me! Haha, you guys! Nice try.”

Nobody else laughed. Kon rolled his eyes, capping the whiteboard pen. Haruhi coughed. 

“...no, you're being genuine. It's—wow.” Tamaki looked at the whiteboard again, trying to see it in real life. He'd never really considered where you went when you died, not seriously anyway. He'd always played it off more as a joke, and had never really thought about… It was weird. 

“I've—” Hikaru said, suddenly, voice thick like he was struggling to speak, “I've seen a ghost before.” 

Kaoru stared at his brother. “The movie theatre?” 

Hikaru stared at him, “You saw it too?” 

Kaoru shrugged. “A blur. It's only because you reacted so strangely that I remember it. I didn't want to ask you about it, in case it was something bad.” 

“Oh, brother of mine...” Hikaru's eyes filled with tears. He gripped his twin's hands, “You can ask me about anything. I'd rather you tore open my heart that let worry fill yours.” 

Kaoru flushed, and his fingers caught his brother's chin, holding it tenderly. 

Kyoya turned his attention back to Kon. “So what does that mean now?” 

Kon's frown deepened. He sat up straighter, and in that instant he looked so much like Ichigo he commanded the attention of everyone in the room. He cleared his throat. “You need to stay away from me, Ichigo, and Ichigo's friends.” 

A chorous of “What?!” and “Hey now—”s rippled through the group, but Kon raised a steady hand. 

“I mean it. It's bad enough if I get kidnapped and die, I can't stop attracting Hollows. But if you train your powers, you'll increase your reiatsu. And if you do that, you'll increase the amount of Hollows that attack you, and your friends. You can't protect them all,” Kon's gaze was so earnest, so intense, it was hard to look away. 

“Well—… We can't just...” Haruhi dropped her gaze, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Tears brimmed on her beautiful eyes. 

“W-what about the debt you owe!” Kyoya said suddenly. 

“Yeah!” Tamaki cried, “You, er, your brother broke my nose.” 

Kon shook his head. “Tell the director, then. I can't put you guys in danger.” 

“We won't let you escape, Kon!” Hikaru announced, “You're stuck with us!”

Kon straightened up, and rose to his feet. A deep haze of something unnameable clouded his eyes. “I'm sorry, guys.” 

Kyoya looked up at him, face unsure. “That's okay,” He said, finally. 

“I can't let you die...”

“Wha—”

There was a puff of smoke, and the Kikanshinki activated. 

 

*

 

Kon slipped from the school window. 

It was raining now, spitting and hissing over the concrete of the building he leapt onto, slicking the building like molten silver. It glinted orange as it reflected the dusk, spinning into the thick water. He sighed, from deep within his chest. 

It almost made him laugh, if his chest didn't ache quite so badly, he might just have. It was a deep pain in his ribs, like his heart was mourning. What a wuss he was. 

The sun twinkled through the rain. He cradled a hand against his soaking shirt, trying hard not to glance back at the school's windows, where the gaggle was waking. 

A group of friends, who knew who he was, who laughed with him, liked him for him, and not Ichigo's shadow. He huffed out a painful breath. It was a clichéd dream, and it was as easy to reach as the evening sun. But he couldn't. Not with the way Orihime had died, stretching her arms to the distant stars, blood running through her beautiful hair… 

The ouran kids didn't look outside, didn't notice the figure retreating through the rain like a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know this was my longest fanfiction I've ever written? 
> 
> I didn't make Orihime's death A Big Thing because of a lot of reasons. Firstly, most of the time people don't pour out big secrets to people they've just met, and also it happened at least a year ago, and Ichigo's the kind of guy to never really mention his tragic backstory. And Kon, well, he didn't really think it was his story to tell. 
> 
> I'm bad at endings, so if this doesn't make sense, just tell me :)


End file.
